


Gazing Upon Dun Scaith

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, F/F, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Scáthach has complicated issues with sex and death, Sexualized Death, Sexualized Violence, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: Not even once did she think about the people that she killed.





	Gazing Upon Dun Scaith

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to d.max and the other avid readers to who requested this because i'm terribly sorry for the venture we're about to engage in

**i.**

Not even once did she think about the people that she killed.

It wasn’t a problem. Lives were meant to end. The second they chose to fight, they chose to die. No matter how many people, or creatures or gods – she never gave it a second thought. She enjoyed it, after all. The thrill of fighting, the rush of killing. The pride and triumph of each victory. She made her own choice after choice. Until the blood would not wash from her hands, until time slowed to a halt. She never once thought of hitting a wall, where there was no longer a pleasure in killing. That was – why she could not be anymore. The world turned its back on her, and the gods did not chase her. The blood she had milked from her foes seemed inconsequential when she had become nothing.

Even if Scáthach stood still, and allowed the weapons of her enemies sink into her body, it would be meaningless. The swords and spears of her countrymen, fearful and violent, feathered her body like art. Her heart and her head, her stomach and vessels, she bled and bled. But it was fruitless. Eventually, she would pull each arrow from her body. She would push the spear through her flesh. Dislodge the sword from her skull, and the wounds would act as if they were never there. Even if she made no effort to live, the world had refused her. The gods did not seek her. She was not meant to live or die. Exist without ending.

She had hoped – momentarily. A handsome young man with an honest disposition would save her. With a cursed spear that brought death – she hoped. But her “heart” could not be pierced. It had been too long, and he was far too young. She saw his death in the beginning, yet – she had hoped. She hoped he would bring her salvation where she had none. A hero could do that for someone. But she had earned the ire of everything. A hero had no place to be her savior.

It was neither a self depreciating thing to think about nor a confident one. Scáthach was centuries past fretting over those details. She was ages past regret and – besides. She could not even remember the faces of the people she had killed. Their names? They might as well be a dust clinging to her body. All she had was empty hands and time. Until existence faded out, and her hands turned to dust, she had time.

When she met her Master for the first time, all Scáthach saw was a slender back. One that was far too small to shoulder the weight of the world, yet it did. Defying all logic and thought, refusing order, her Master’s back stood firm against the storm. It was not a wondrous sight, not like when she met Setanta who had peerlessness in his gaze, but one that inspired an airlessness in her all the same.

This was someone worthy of assisting.

That’s what she felt. Even if she needed to raise that Master from the earth, sharpen her edges and polish her surface. This was a Master that would bring Scáthach peace. A silence to her noise. She would not speak it, but there was a terrible comfort in seeing Fujimaru Ritsuka’s back, because she could feel confident in knowing that this Master would kill her. This was the person she had been waiting for so long to meet. She wouldn’t dare say it. Far too much knowledge could be a bane.

But she wished, if for just a moment, that she could see it. She had seen his death before, so why not hers?

When it was so close – she knew it was childish of her to be so selfish. She had a job to do for her Master, after all. She could not perish while she owed Ritsuka her service. Scáthach had promised to fulfill their bonds. And – the Celts kept their promises.

“You want to die?” Ritsuka asked, mid-exercise. Scáthach had, thoughtlessly, become a mentor of sorts. Watching her Master train to better her body and skills as a magus had become natural. She didn’t slow down, maintaining her regimen of push-ups. The room had already begun to smell of sweat, but it was strangely sweet to Scáthach’s nose.

“Yes, that’s right.” She smiled to herself as Ritsuka completed and dropped to her stomach. “I wish for death. If the Holy Grail is truly almighty, then I wish for someone who can kill me for good.”

Her Master seemed to consider that, rolling onto her back so she could glance up at Scáthach. As expected of her Master, Ritsuka’s face was more thoughtful than anything else. She drew her knees up and brought her hands behind her head. “Someone? Do you have someone in mind?” she asked in huffs, drawing her body upwards to a sit-up.

Scáthach laughed humorlessly. “A long time ago, I hoped he would. But it was too late.”

The he did not need defining. When they talked about someone like that, it was obvious who they meant. Ritsuka didn’t reply for a time, and the only sound in the room was her breathing. When her rep was done, she laid on her back again and stared up at Lancer. “I’ll kill you.”

It was tactless, unfounded and foolish. But to Scáthach, it sounded like a proposal.

In the room, smelling of sweat, she felt almost like a bride. Some part of her felt free, like a dam was beginning to break. But not yet. Not even as the heat blossomed in her chest, could she feel. Not yet. She closed her eyes and leaned backwards against Ritsuka’s bed. She had been alive, or something like it, too long to become giddy over things like this. Snuffing the sparks inside her chest, Scáthach reopened her eyes.

“You cannot make impossible promises.”

Ritsuka rose from the ground, rolling her shoulders. “Then I won’t. I’ll – kill you, Scáthach. I’ll obtain as many grails as I need and I will bring you death.” There wasn’t any hesitation in her voice. It wasn’t rushed, or hurried, or overly sympathetic. Scáthach watched her Master’s back as she toweled off her face. She was a warrior in her own way. In the time that they were together, it was obvious enough.

Scáthach had many lovers in her existence. But it had been quite some time since she had felt something like love. Her Master’s back, wet with sweat, was firm and resolute. Not a student, or an enemy. Or someone she had nothing to do with. Her burning hair stuck against her neck. She looked over her shoulder, with her fiercely bright eyes, and Scáthach overflowed with things to say.

But there was only one on the tip of her tongue, “can you promise me that?”

She had since outgrown believing in that hope. She had outgrown expecting a hero to come in and save her from the fate she had chosen. Because – Scáthach could not remember a single face of the people she had killed. She could not even bother to feel like caring. The only sense of regret that she had was that she could not control her lust for killing. Regret for what she had done to herself, not that she had done it.

Turning on her heel, Ritsuka faced her. Up until that point Scáthach had only admired her Master’s back, but her front – unafraid and strong – was quite lovely. Her expression was far more mature than it should’ve been. She had brushed too close with death too many times to remain naive and gentle. “I am promising you.” Her eyes were so intense and focused, that Scáthach did not resist when Ritsuka touched her cheek.

“I will,” Scáthach admired the resolution in her eyes, and the feeling of her fingers against her skin. “Be the one to kill you.”

**ii.**

Scáthach had experienced pain before. She had been stabbed, and cut. She had been torn apart. She had been pinned with arrows so that she could not even see the color of her flesh. She had felt the sundering might of gods – but there was no point to any of it. Even if a sword cleaved her head from her shoulders, she could pick it up again and reattach it. Pain had become something of a chore. A lie perpetrated by her body to make her think she would be able to experience release.

To say that she didn’t, on the occasion, fantasize about death would be wrong. What it would feel like to have the life drain from her body – what would kill her. She thought of it more often since her venture to Chaldea. It used to simply be the throbbing of Gáe Bolg in her chest, the demonic red spear piercing through her flesh. The sensation of every futile beat of her heart drawing to a close, her blood spilling hot over her flesh and breasts. She imagined numbness in her toes and fingers, a drawing blackness in her eyes. The kind expression of Cú Chulainn attending her death throws.

There was a sexual nature to dying. She could not deny that fact. For her, where it was the last thing denied of her, it was forbidden sex. How would Fujimaru Ritsuka kill her? Her body hummed with arousal, imagining any number of possibilities. Would her Master wrench the heart from her body, bare handed? Cutting through her skin and bone, grasping her still beating heart, and ripping it out. Would she rip her throat out? Bury her nails into Scáthach’s throat, sensuously grasping hold of her corroded and freeing it?

She was stinging with arousal, the longer she served her Master. Each Singularity they passed, the more Grails she obtained. Ritsuka handled them carefully, her eyes flickering to Scáthach as she did. Soon enough – Scáthach’s throat was so dry and her body so hot. When she had completed her work with her Master – the ultimate release. But what would it be – ?

It was sex.

The sheets in her teeth, and her fingers against her cunt. It was not the first nor the last time she would masturbate to the thought of death. Nor was it the first time that Ritsuka played a big part of her fantasies. It was easy enough. Her Master’s weight on her hips, one hand pressing her stomach flat as the other drove a blade into it. It would hurt – Scáthach shuddered, driving her fingers inside of herself. It would hurt so fiercely that she would cry out. Pain would have meaning again.

Slowly and carefully, Ritsuka would gut her. Staring at her with that powerful look, with that confidence that she would be the one to free Scáthach. Her blood stained hands would linger upwards, eviscerating her completely. Cutting through her bone and lungs, she would reach that delicate place that Scáthach had protected. Her body shuddered, and her vision blanked. She groaned noisily, coming against her fingers.

Ritsuka promised to kill her. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

**iii.**

This much was not enough to kill her. Split and sundered by countless weapons – her mouth opened and only blood spilled out. There was more steel in her body than bone. Each step she took, iron grip upon her spear, was an affront to any god. Arrows prickled her back, there was swords pierced through her stomach and shoulders. Her feet dragged, a trail of blood lingering behind her. This much was not enough. Arrows fell from the sky, piercing her skull, one of her eyes. This much was not enough. In defiance of logic, her body continued to move.

The Archer, whose face she could no longer discern, tried to run from her. He should’ve been faster than her. Her body was riddled with wounds, her legs cleaved in chunks. She was more steel than woman. Yet, she would not allow herself to be humiliated like this. The arrogance of someone who could not die, even if she wanted, was that she could tell her body what to do. Her vision was blurry, and out of one eye, and red. She was unable to breathe, the blood filling her lungs. But it was not enough.

Her hands, which steadfast, held her spears as she cleaved his running legs. The tendons snapped, and he fell forward. A meaty thud, and he began to claw at the earth, running from her figure. There is a voice in her ear, but she could not place it, far too focused on the hunt. The enemy on the ground turned to look at her, trying to find a way to fend her off until the last moment. But it was futile. Her body creaked, the metal clicked against each other as she raised her arms, the voice was louder now, but all that was in front of her was a disappointment.

What was the point in riddling her with all these wounds? There wasn’t. This Archer, and any Saber, nor Berserker or Caster. There was only one person who could kill her. The tip of her spear sank into the back of her enemy, slowly ever so slowly, drawing out the last beats of his heart. The voice was clearer now. Her name? Her Class? Rigidly, Scáthach turned, and her one working eye attempted to focus.

“Master,” she wanted to say, but every time she opened her lips, blood spewed out like a drowning croak. Ritsuka’s expression was tender, weak. Crossed with misery and pain. Broken. She wanted to say: Don’t look at me like that. This much isn’t enough. But her lungs failed her. The weapons that belonged to the Archer began to fade in fistfuls of gold light. Her heart was dislodged and she found it beating ever quicker.

Her lungs patched together, yet she was still breathless. Her Master looked at her with such regard and reverence that she could not control her own body. Affection, misery. She wanted to fix the pain on Ritsuka’s face, but she could only watch as her Master drew closer. As Scáthach’s eye repaired itself, her vision grew clearer. She could see and hear Ritsuka’s furious sobs.

“Don’t you dare take those risks,” Ritsuka snapped grasping a handful of Scáthach’s suit. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her voice cracked as she spoke. Scáthach would’ve thought it was vulnerable, and should’ve disliked it’s weakness. But her heart pounded furiously against her chest, and she was almost at a loss for words. “Only I’m allowed to kill you. Only me.”

It only took Scáthach a minute to place the look in her eyes. Terrified – sure, but beneath that surface was a white hot jealousy. The kind only a lover would wear. Scáthach stirred, slightly, at how romantic the scene felt to her. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She replied, reaching her hand out to touch her Master’s face. Wet with sweat and tears, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Any puncture wounds and tears in her flesh were completely healed by the time they reached Chaldea again. Even as a ‘Servant’ her healing capabilities were illogical at best. Ritsuka ran a hand through her hair, frustrated and turned to her. Her eyes were still swollen, but her cheeks were redder. Her body language was more subdued, but that was alluring on its own. “I’m sorry.” She apologized, running a hand along the back of her neck. “I should not have acted like that.”

“As it is, you are my ‘Master,’ you have a right to tell me what to do,” Scáthach replied, and she smiled softly. “You’re not wrong either. My death belongs to you.”

Ritsuka stared at her, flushed, before glancing aside. “I want more than just your death,” she said beneath her breath. What she wanted was obvious. Anyone with an ounce of experience would be able to tell from a glance. That was why when she turned back and kissed Scáthach, she didn’t stop her.

**iv.**

Scáthach thought she had outgrown romantic entanglements. Outlived too many lovers to count, too many to give any amount of herself to. She had become too twisted to enjoy the touch of a lover. Yet, now, she shared a bed with her Master. They had not even had sex. Simply – existed. Scáthach ran her fingers through Ritsuka’s hair as she slept, admiring the feeling of her heat against her fingertips. She had been too sick to enjoy little things that lovers do, she had believed.

“Master, you will sleep the day away,” Scáthach said quietly, running her fingers from Ritsuka’s hair to the base of her neck and tracing the line of her spine. So human and fragile, she thought time and time again. But she knew, as she admired, that this was the person who would free her.

Ritsuka shifted and turned her head, peering at Scáthach drowsily. There is bruising on her cheek and across her body. They were taking a much needed break from questing, but that wasn’t an excuse to stay in bed. Ritsuka yawned, “touching me like that isn’t going to make me want to get up any faster.” She laughed gently, and her eyes twinkled as she did so. She eventually groaned. “My face hurts.”

Pulling back the blankets, Scáthach exposed the black and blue canvas of Ritsuka’s back. Other Servants complained when Ritsuka fought her hardest, but Scáthach could not find the arrogance to insist she be weak. It was their Master’s choice to fight – and she acted thoughtfully and bravely when she did. “There were hairline fractures near your orbital wall,” Scáthach said pressing light kisses against the bruises on Ritsuka’s back. “Luckily, magic will heal that quickly.”

Her Master was not a Servant nor a true Mage – yet she stood up every time. After every injury or failure. That was the marking of a hero. Flinching as she sat up, Ritsuka let out her held breath. Pain for her was an expression of change. Of overcoming her limits and weaknesses. Becoming that hero that would kill Scáthach. Her shuddering breath of pain was like a ballad. Scáthach retrieved clothes for her, as a gift for making the first effort to stand and move in the adversity of pain.

“Thanks,” Ritsuka pulled a shirt over her head. Wearing a bra would simply irritate the bruises, so it was sweats all the way until the muscles in her back repaired. By the time she pulled her shirt all the way down, Scáthach had leaned against the bed in front of her. Each time she looked at Ritsuka’s face, she felt something old and forgotten pop into her chest. Something that she had given up on after too many times. Ritsuka titled her head just a bit, and Scáthach kissed her.

She had been with women before. When you lived as Scáthach did, there were few things untested. Scáthach had kissed women many times, had sex with them, killed them, fought with them. Despite that, perhaps due to her own feelings, it was a unique experience kissing her Master. Her lips were a different shape than she was used to, her tongue was hot and active. Her breath was faintly sweet and as Scáthach urged her tongue against her, she mewled softly into her mouth.

It made Scáthach feel almost vulnerable herself. As if her world surrounding the two of them was fragile and delicate. Ritsuka touched Scáthach’s cheeks, and traced her jaw to her hairline. She closed her eyes and memorized the feeling. Until her last breath, she would remember each time Ritsuka touched her. “I love you,” Ritsuka leaned against her, their foreheads touching lightly. “I’ll have all of you until the very last drop.”

The way she said so was fulfilling and freeing. Scáthach, for the very moment, felt mortal. She felt centuries fade from her memory if only for a second. She was a woman again, weak in the embrace of her lover. She had forgotten the lightness in her stomach, and the weakness that would overcome her knees. It had been so long since she had felt that way, she was drunk on it.

“And I you,” Scáthach replied, pecking light kisses upon Ritsuka’s lips. “I shall carry all of you until I fade completely.”

Truly, she felt like a bride. If she closed her eyes, she was barefoot in cool wet earth. Amongst the springs of _Alpeach_. Surrounded on all sides were friends and students – people she had trusted and loved for so many years. She would bind Ritsuka’s hands tight with whispers of promises. Ritsuka’s lips were strong and gentle, and blinking out of her own reverie felt no less significant.

To think she would be able to enjoy herself like this – Scáthach wondered if she should thank her past self for her cruelty. She doubted any lover she would’ve taken would have made her feel so – complete.

**v.**

To simply admire her Master became not enough. Not while she stood steadfast against the current of war, while she remained firm and honest with her feelings and strengths. Not while her body, racked with bruises and cuts, looked ever so beautiful smeared with blood. If only, Scáthach secretly coveted, it was _her_ blood. It was a thought she had to press aside, Ritsuka’s nose was definitely broken, and her previous fracture was no doubt aggravated. Her arms were black and blue as was the rest of her body. But she was victorious.

Scáthach wanted to be touched so fiercely that it became an issue to hold back. Behind closed doors, her breath was hot against the nape of Ritsuka’s neck. Her Master looked like a warrior, the kind that always won in adversity. “Do not be gentle,” Scáthach urged Ritsuka’s hands against her body, the torn holes of her suit where she had been injured herself. “I have been impatient, Master.”

The tenuous material of her suit tore against Ritsuka’s fingers, and her palms pressed at the bottom of her breasts. She did not disappoint, her fingers digging hard into Scáthach’s flesh, kneading waves of arousal hot through her body. Her Master’s mouth parted, sucking her tongue inside like a ravenous beast. Licking, and biting Scáthach’s tongue as she clawed her body. It was rough and violent – Ritsuka’s nails broke her skin, and she shuddered as her thumbs ground against the wounds.

“Ah, yes,” Scáthach purred stretching her back against the bed, her hand shredding through the last threads of her suit to expose her chest. With an enticing bounce, she could see the heat lingering in Ritsuka’s eyes. “You will kill me, won’t you?”

Her Master took a breast in each hand and bit her. Hard enough to break the skin, enough to leave a lingering bruise for the evening. Her tongue extended, licking the wound carefully but forcefully. Scáthach watched in quiet awe as she traced the pattern of her teeth. “I’ll kill you,” Ritsuka growled, and her voice sent shocks of pleasure down Scáthach’s spine. She shifted, so that her lips lingered against her throat. The scent of Ritsuka’s blood was dizzying, and she moaned as she felt teeth against her neck. Her palms were filled by her Master’s hands, holding her down.

“I’ll kill you,” Ritsuka repeated against Scáthach’s ear. Between her legs, Ritsuka’s hips drew close. Scáthach’s breathing hitched, feeling the rutting of her Master’s hips against her cunt. “You’ll be mine until the very last.” Her words earned a whimper of desperation, and her hips could only answer so much.

But if Ritsuka cared, she didn’t show it. She tortured her with the roll of her hips, lovingly, cruelly pulling her close to the edge and retreating. She could not even satisfy herself, her hands pinned against the bed. Scáthach panted and writhed, each half hearted resistance earned a harder thrust against her. Each time, Ritsuka’s teeth sank into her neck making her need more urgent and the fluttering in her chest more apparent.

She had become a being of want. From the top of her head to her toes, she felt like a certain queen. She wanted and wanted. To die, to be loved, to be filled. She wanted Ritsuka’s steady thrusts but more, she wanted her teeth but harsher. She wanted to be embraced and made love to countless times, but – at that moment. Scáthach wanted to be fucked harder. Fiercer.

Ritsuka’s hands drifted from her hands to her neck, and it was like a dream. “Yes,” Scáthach nearly begged, but saved herself the indignity. Her neck was oversensitive from Ritsuka’s teeth, and her hands fit so well there. Voiceless, she sighed into the hold. Her hips dug and found the perfect angle to rub at her clit. Suddenly and roughly, the grip tightened on her. Her breath escaped her with a hiss. Beneath the pressure of her palms, Scáthach’s body went hot.

“This is what you want.” Ritsuka sighed, adjusting her grip. There was a dominant glow to her eyes. Scáthach fruitlessly attempted to groan, hot pleasure surging through her. The fight in her brain wanted to resist – Scáthach sank her hands to Ritsuka’s waist, urging her pace harder against her. She was filled with want. The cracking of her breath and the clouding of her eyes made her hotter – wetter, no doubt soaking through her suit and staining Ritsuka’s skirt.

From this much alone, Scáthach knew she could come but she resisted. No, she had so many wants. Her fingers clawed at Ritsuka’s torso, not yet satisfied. She could not vocalize, her throat shut, but she mouthed the word. “More.” In a voiceless beg, she petitioned for Ritsuka’s mercy. She understood, and Ritsuka released her throat.

Scáthach sucked in air on reflex. The throbbing in her throat made a bee line straight between her legs, and shameless, she clawed at her body suit to tear the fabric free. Ritsuka watched her, wordless, until she was fully exposed. Her bruised, bloody face looked as content as a wolf watching sheep, and Scáthach took short sharp breaths. “Fuck,” her voice sounded rasp from the choking, but Ritsuka’s smile deepened. “Me.”

Her fingers were slender and feminine, and Scáthach watched intently as she traced her slit. Teasing, Ritsuka intended to frustrate her to the last second. Spreading her open and toying with her clit, Scáthach sucked in a breath trying not to get to close to climax in just the opening act. Finally, Ritsuka’s first finger sank in her. Even in her imagination, it wasn’t quite the same. Inch by inch, she filled her until she had her finger in Scáthach to the knuckle.

Hitching her breath, Scáthach welcomed Ritsuka’s palm on her throat. She wanted to weep, between the addition of her fingers to the pressure on her neck, Scáthach was drunk in ecstasy. A third finger finally filled her fully, and Ritsuka closed her grip. If she were mortal, this type of violence would kill her. Savagely, her cunt was filled and fucked the force of which rocked her hips. She could not moan or cry out, her windpipe nearly crushed under her Master’s hand.

After so many years she had given up on calling out to gods, but Scáthach mouthed their names none the less. Her vision faded in and out, her strange body unable to figure out what to do, and she grasped at Ritsuka’s wrist to hold it in place. Lovingly, tenderly, violently take me. She wanted to beg over and over, twisting her body as the urge build up.

Ritsuka’s face was beautiful. Looking at her with love and passion as she fucked her to death.

**vi.**

Scáthach’s bare feet sank into the wet earth. It was not _Alpeach_ , not even _Erin_. It was France, centuries after the time she had lived. A land that had nothing to do with her. She felt the breeze catch the material of the sun dress that she had picked out. It was a simulation within Chaldea. A pleasant one. Ritsuka stood beside her, their hands held together by a single length of cloth.

“Traditionally, there is a circle and friends,” Scáthach said leaning closer to her Master. “Maybe we should invite the Cú Chulainn trio, and Mash.”

Ritsuka hummed, “I don’t think my heart can handle that. Being bullied by the Hounds.” She looked down at their twined hands with a smile. “I love you.”

Scáthach smiled. Death could wait just awhile longer. “I love you too, Master.”


End file.
